


Well Then

by allamaraine



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allamaraine/pseuds/allamaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly has an announcement to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Then

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s certainly… something.”

 

Beverly stares at the object before her: a bulbous blue figurine encrusted with what in her opinion are some very gaudy jewels. The thing sits perched on a cushioned stand surrounded by a protective force field. Standing on the other side of the artifact is Jean-Luc, eagerly examining the piece, his nose so close barely half a centimeter from the force field.

 

“Admittedly not the most attractive of figures,” he softly confides in her so that the beaming curator standing nearby doesn’t overhear, “but the craftsmanship is quite remarkable. The Bolians were light years ahead of us when it came to this sort of thing. It wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution and the development of synthetics that plastics came into widespread use on Earth. On Bolarus, however, they were extensively using natural plastics a thousand years before they developed an internal combustion engine.”

 

He straightens and steps out from behind the artifact to look at Beverly more directly. “Of course, they did not ever have an Industrial Revolution per say.”

 

“That’s right,” interjects the Bolian curator, who is extremely thrilled to have the Captain and CMO of the flagship of Starfleet in his museum, “The Biochemical Revolution was the real turning point in Bolian history.”

 

Beverly nods, “I’ve read many Bolian medical texts from that era. The sheer number of pharmaceutical advancements and discoveries made in only fifty or so years is staggering.”

 

The Bolian smiles and claps his hands together, “Then you definitely need to see our collection of medical manuscripts. They’re in the gallery on the third floor. We can go there after you’re done here, if you’d like.”

 

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

“My pleasure.” The communicator on his hip beeps. He checks the incoming message and frowns. “Oh dear, I forgot… I must attend to something in my office. I hope it’s not an inconvenience?”

 

Beverly and Jean-Luc shake their heads and reassure him that they’ll be sure to contact him if they have any questions. As soon as he leaves, they both sigh in relief. He’s been a very informative guide, but a bit too intrusive. Alone now, they continue to wander around the current gallery, a special exhibition on ancient Bolian family life. Many of the artifacts are only recently excavated from a rarely explored city in Bolarus’ North Polar Region. Jean-Luc read about it this morning in one of his archeology journals and in an uncharacteristically spontaneous move for him, asked if she wanted to go.

 

“What, today?”

 

“Why not? _Enterprise_ is going to be in orbit for a few days, and neither of us has taken any shore leave recently.”

 

She reached out and felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Checking your temperature. Clearly you are ill if you are _voluntarily_ going on shore leave.”

 

“Very funny. I take it that’s a yes, then?”

 

This next artifact, a tall, slender goblet, is actually quite beautiful, engraved as it is with interwoven spirals and curved abstractions. Four spouts curve off the brim of the cup. Unlike many of the other objects in the room, the goblet isn’t plastic, but rather some sort of metal. Before Beverly has a chance to read the inscription underneath, Jean-Luc is already excitedly explaining everything to her.

 

“This is a wedding chalice, from the Early Northern Empire. See?” he points at each of the four spouts, “The biggest spout here was for the First Spouse and the co-spouses would drink from the other spouts, solidifying their union with one another.” He continues to elaborate on ancient Bolian wedding practices and how they compare to their contemporaries on other planets. His eyes light up as he points out other items of interest – elaborate head pieces, palettes and brushes for body paints, and squat candelabra – and describes their various uses. Beverly loves seeing him like this, so absorbed in a particular topic that nothing else in the universe seems to exist but this _thing_ and this person to whom he must tell all about it. When he gets like this, it’s damn near impossible not to get swept up in the tide of his enthusiasm. And he isn’t talking just to hear himself talk, either. He considers all her questions and comments carefully, completely genuine in his desire for her to feel the same wonder that he does, the same connection with the past.

 

Today, however, she’s more focused on the future. As they enter a holographic reconstruction of a Northern Empire traditional multi-family homestead, Beverly comes to a decision. Not exactly the time or place she was planning for this, but there’s no time like the present, right? At least, that’s probably what Deanna would tell her.

 

“Jean-Luc,” she starts, “There’s something I need to tell you.” She waits, half expecting the power to go out or for one or the other of them to be transported away or for the curator to run in yelling that the museum has been taken over.

 

Picking up on the seriousness of her tone, Jean-Luc releases the button he was holding down to start the kitchen simulation and asks worriedly, “What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s nothing bad,” she reassures him. “In fact, quite the opposite: I’ve been offered captaincy of the _Pasteur_.”

 

“Beverly!” He clasps her upper arms, “Why! That’s wonderful! Are you going to take it?”

 

“I already have. I asked Admiral Janeway to let me be the one to tell you.”

 

“Good,” he firmly kisses her forehead and slides his hands down her arms to take hold of her hands. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime! Having your own ship… nothing can compare. I couldn’t be any prouder of you.”

 

Beverly squeezes his hands. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

 

He tilts his head in bewilderment. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“I should have discussed it with you first. I was just so thrilled when the Admiral contacted me, I didn’t even think about what it would mean for us.”

 

“This has been a long time coming. Too long, in my opinion. To be honest, I’ve often worried that I have been holding you back all these years.”

 

Beverly shakes her head in vigorous protest. “I wouldn’t trade my time on _Enterprise_ for a thousand ships!”

 

“There was a time you felt differently,” he says with a wry smile, referring to her brief tenure as the Head of Starfleet Medical.

 

“Well, yes,” she concedes, releasing his hands and putting her own on her hips in reproach, “but at that time you were being an unmitigated ass, so.”

 

“Fair point,” he says with a sheepish smile. They both fall silent and absently watch the program around them, each contemplating the implications of Beverly’s promotion. Even after announcing it to Jean-Luc, the whole situation still feels a bit unreal to Beverly. She has yet to see her ship or find out what their assignment will be and has only just started on a crew selection, so she has nothing concrete on which to fix her expectations. Glancing over at Jean-Luc, who is frowning in concentration at the dome-shaped baking oven where a holographic Bolian man is preparing a soufflé, she wonders how this is going to affect their relationship. Romance aside, they’ve been at each other’s side almost constantly for over a decade. No more coffee and croissants: a sobering thought.

 

“When are you leaving?” Jean-Luc asks after a time.

 

“The _Pasteur_ won’t be ready to leave Utopia Planetia for another three months. That gives you plenty of time to find a new CMO. Dr. Selar would probably be my first choice, but I have a list of some others, if you want to take a look.”

 

“I would have thought you’d suggest Dr. Ogawa.”

 

“I would, if I wasn’t offering her a place on my ship already.”

 

“Wasting no time in poaching _Enterprise_ ’s best officers, I see!”

 

“I’m only following a time-honored Starfleet tradition. I promise I won’t kidnap too many.”

 

“That will be a relief to the next captain, I’m sure.”

 

“What do you mean the next captain?”

 

“I’m coming with you,” he says with a finality that rather alarms her.

 

“Jean-Luc! I can’t ask you to do that!”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

“The _Enterprise_ –”

 

“Was perfectly fine without me before, and will be so again.”

 

“But everything you’ve ever worked for… That ship’s your whole life!”

 

“Not my _whole_ life, Beverly.” He gazes at her significantly, causing her to look down and away. This is not the response she expected. How many times has he been offered a position as an Admiral or an Ambassador and refused? It’s always confounded HQ, she knows. That this, that _she_ , is the reason he’ll leave, without a seeming second thought about it is surprising, even to her. They’ve been careful to go slowly, to keep their relationship fairly casual, and if he comes with her, that changes everything.

 

He reaches out, tilts her chin towards him. “I’m ready for this, for us. What you say is true: _Enterprise_ has been the focus of my existence – for far too long, I’m afraid.”

 

Her heart clenches at that. It’s almost as if they are on Kesprytt again as she looks into his eyes and sees all the things he’s not saying, about the Borg, about Gul Madred, about Robert, about Data. He’s right. It is time, for her and for him, to finally leave the ship that has been home to them for so long. She brings his hand cupping her chin to her lips and kisses the palm. “Well then,” is all she can say.

 

He smiles, “Well then.” He gives her a long, lingering kiss, his hands entangled in her rich red hair. Leaving her mouth, he trails his lips along her jawline and whispers in her ear, “ _Captain_.” 

 

Forgetting where they are for a moment, Beverly slides her hands to his hips and pulls him towards her, backing herself up against the nearest wall. His mouth finds hers again and they kiss, much more hungrily this time. He presses his body against her, oblivious to the holograms blithely going about their ancient traditions. Eventually, the holographic display, having run through this particular program, shimmers around them, leaving nothing but the control panel in the middle of the room. And one very amused-looking Bolian curator.

 

He fake-coughs very loudly.

 

Jean-Luc immediately straightens, turns red as a beet and refuses to turn around to face the curator. Beverly tries, only moderately successfully, to suppress a grin as she says, “Apologies Mr. Arlin,” over Jean-Luc’s shoulder. “That was unprofessional and I do hope you’ll forgive us.”

 

“No need to apologize!” He winks. “I’m just happy to see that not all humans are as prudish as they seem. Your species has some very odd ideas about showing affection in public.”

 

Jean-Luc, still facing away from Mr. Arlin, presses his lips together in consternation. In this situation, he’d probably much rather face an angry or embarrassed man than a cheerful one. Beverly, however, chuckles. “Yes, we do, don’t we?” She gently grabs Jean-Luc’s shoulder and turns him around before looping her arm around his. “Why don’t you show us those medical manuscripts you were telling us about earlier?”

 

“Certainly! If you all will follow me…”

 

“Beverly!” Jean-Luc mutters as they walk a few feet behind Mr. Arlin.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“I can’t believe we just did that, like a couple of teenagers!”

 

“Oh no, when I was a teenager, I was much, much worse.”

 

He glares at her and she grins. “You’re a bad influence on me, Beverly Crusher.”

 

She elects not to point out what sort of teenager _he_ was. “Hey, there’s still a chance for you to back out of this before it’s too late.”

 

“Absolutely not. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

 

“I would never want to.”

 

“Then, captain, o my captain, lead on.”

 


End file.
